For Science
by lessien Amandil
Summary: just a little fluff of johnlock
1. Chapter 1

It started like every other day. Me and Sherlock had woken up and walked into the kitchen. I boiled and heated the pan while Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, playing with another one of his experiments. His long, slender fingers picked through the samples and placed each on their individual slide.

I wonder why I let him do this, after all it was the same table we ate of, but then again, the amount of body parts in the fridge was also mildly shocking. I suppose I let do it because he would anyway … and then living with him would be a constant war.

"John?" I heard him ask.

"mhnn…" I reply to let him know I was listening.

"Come look at this for a moment…. Please." He added belatedly. I stood proud. Before I had moved in with Sherlock he had no manners whatsoever, and was constantly off his face in cocaine.

"What is it?" I asked walking across the room from where I had come from. We had been working on a murder and theft case that had required all our knowledge and then some more, just to get started.

Sherlock held a piece of paper to my face.

"Does this look like anyone you know, or recognise?" I peer closer at the image

"Why offcourse I know him! It's Ronald McDonald."

"Who?"

"Ronald McDonald." I stated slightly surprised that Sherlock didn't know of him, but then again he had also forgotten that the planets revolved around the sun. "You know from McDonalds. He is that scary mascot." I explained to him as he just sat there and stared at me in surprise, it seemed.

"Why do you need to know anyway?"

"This picture was taken by the CCTV camera out side the hotel that was home to the missing carbuncle. It seems he is Lestrade's lead suspect."

Ah yes, the stolen carbuncle, one of the most prised gems in the world and for it to simply go missing like that, it's protector found dead on the floor was not very surprising, but why someone would dress as a mascot to steal it and why there was no murder weapon identifiable, was above me.

The kettle whistled and I went over to it poured two cups of tea. When I crossed the kitchen again to give Sherlock his cup, I noticed he was still staring at me. I raised my eyebrow questioningly.

He simply stood and closed the gap between us. I was conflicted, I usually hate it to be staring up at people, it makes me feel small and insignificant, and made me start comparing myself with them, but something about this was different, I … (for lack of a better word) longed to be close to him.

He leaned closer, our foreheads leaning against each other, the tips of our noses touching, this was strange he rarely showed affecting and hated being in close proximity to people.

"Sherlock?"

"For Science." He leaned even closer and placed his lips on mine. Not a proper kiss or anything, our lips were just touching.

The phone rang and Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds as if he was begging for patience and pulled back a few centimetres.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, I felt heart beat quicken as he stared into my eyes for a few precious seconds, before the phone rang again. He cleared his throat, and it was like he switched back to 'normal Sherlock' mode.

"Oh, leave it. It's probably just Lestrade." He looked at me, before looking down again as he walked back to the table, at down, and continued with his work.

Just a day later, the same thing happened again. He got close to me, and gently placed his lips on mine, in the name of science, and then snapped back to being this almost Vulcan version of himself.

I wanted to ask why he kept kissing me, if you can even call it that, but I was too afraid. I feared that he would get embarrassed and stop. I didn't want him to stop, but I also wanted to know why, and possibly when it would grow to some thing more. The days went on and once or twice, he would kiss me each day. What sane person wouldn't question this?

/ AN:

i can not take credit for all of this story it was co-written with a few of my friends.


	2. Chapter 2

I can hear Sherlock shouting my name on the other side of the apartment as I am making myself some tea. I quickly grab the kettle and pour in the hot water, mindlessly adding the milk as I walk towards the noise. I can hear him muttering about his idiocy and simply roll my eyes as I stand in the doorway, leaning my one hip against the frame, crossing my legs and sipping at my tea. It was earl grey tea and I could taste the wonderful hint of bergamot as the warm liquid slipped down my throat.

"What did you find?" I ask though it sounds more like I am humming the words. When he sees me standing there in the doorway his face lights up just a little more as he grabs the tea out of my hand, spilling about half of the contents on to the floor while slipping one arm around my waist as he plonks the cup down on the table. Before I know how to react he has us spinning in circles.

"What's so exciting?" I laugh as we stop; his silver orbs boring into my own light blue ones.

"I solved the case. I know where the Blue Carbuncle is!" I can see the excitement in his body language and I laugh lightly at the fact that he is so excited at the fact that he's solved a case. He truly is a very strange man. Not that I mind in the slightest but I feel the need to admit it none the less.

"But why is it so exciting? I mean it's just one case." I say as I wrinkle my forehead into a frown. At this I see the excitement drain out of his eyes and he steps back out of my arms and into the rest of the world.

" I should go tell Lestrade," he mutters as he walks past me and out of the door, grabbing his scarf on the way out. A small sound coming out of my mouth as I try to stop him, as I try to explain.

When he returns he is as cold as ever and I feel the loss of the Sherlock I had come to know in the past few weeks. I begin to go through possibilities of what I had said wrong; maybe it wasn't what I said but how. Did he think I was brushing off his work, belittling him? As the day drags on he remains frosty and out of reach. At one point he locked himself in his room for a good hour or two before emerging for a short while and then scurrying back into his room.

When he finally comes out again I turn to him and before I loose my nerve ask him about it.

"Are you mad at me," I question silently as he walks past.

"No," he replies stony and devoid of emotion, "why would I be mad at you?" he sounds almost mocking, sarcastic as he says this.

"Well, your just a little different that's all," I murmur as he sits down, forgetting his previous task. I stay silent and continue writing on my blog, scared of frightening him away.

"John," he whispers as he leans over to me. I hum in attention as I twist to see his face, those big orbs bearing into me. Analysing. I wish with everything in me that he will grab my face in his hands and kiss me. But instead he corrects me.

"You spelt 'viciously' wrong," he says his voice is soft, teasing as I turn to look at the screen and see that I had missed the second 'i'.

"Thank you," I manage to splutter out as I go to correct it.

"You weren't expecting that," he states as he tilts his head to inspect me carefully.

"I wasn't expecting anything I say curling further into myself as to hide the lie but I can tell he picks it up. He always does. But instead of pressing he leaves it as he stands up and walks to his room, leaving me craving his presence because even an angry Sherlock is better than no Sherlock at all.


End file.
